


The Fourth Of Jellal

by dragonshost



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, Gen, Humor, Pre-Canon, Pure Crack, Swearing, but everything in between? head empty brains scrambled eggs, don't have any plans for a pairing in this, i promise i have the ending well planned out, just gonna see where it takes me, mystogan is forcibly made guild master, then follows the series ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonshost/pseuds/dragonshost
Summary: Under the weight of the latest damage report (and subsequent bill), Makarov decides that it's finally time to retire as Guild Master and (forcibly) appoint a successor.  Mystogan will never know what hit him.
Comments: 86
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

Makarov was _done_. He’d had it. It was the proverbial straw that broke the Vulcan’s back.

 _It_ , of course, meaning…

_Damage reports._

Now, damage reports were nothing new in Fairy Tail. It was a time honored tradition in Fairy Tail to cause as much destruction as humanly (and sometimes _inhumanly_ ) possible, harkening all the way back to Mavis’s tenure as Guild Master. Although back in those days, the Magic Council hadn’t existed. Not as it currently did, at any rate. No, the Magic Council and all of its itinerant laws and regulations and _god-blasted_ _fines_ had come into being sometime during Precht’s instatement. Which he had then seen fit to bequeath unto Makarov. Having been a baby at the time of the First’s reign, Makarov wasn’t completely certain how Mavis had balanced the destructive nature of her guild with the amount of complaints she no doubt received, but he oh did he know how to deal with the Magic Council’s particular brand of bureaucratic pedantry.

Namely, the miles and miles of stacks of paper that landed itself on his desk day after day like clockwork. Makarov could set his watch to the regularly deliveries of some of the complaints. He was starting to suspect that his guild constituted a good eighty to ninety percent of Magnolia’s postal work and kept its post office in a steady supply of revenue and work.

It was little wonder that Precht had dumped it off on Makarov and left to traverse the world. Warrod had seen the writing on the wall and had managed to vacate the premises ahead of Precht’s own departure, the absolute _bastard_. Makarov had known something was up when he was suddenly named Guild Master of the guild his father had founded with his friends, but by the time he realized what an actual pain running the place was, Precht was long gone and the paperwork just kept coming.

There was a special place in hell reserved for the person who came up with the notion that forms needed to be signed in _triplicate_ , and Makarov intended to personally see to it that person got there on the express line if he ever so much as got the barest _sliver_ of an opportunity to do so.

Furthermore, it seemed as if the paperwork had somehow managed to gain sentience and reproduce like rabbits as of late. Although an alarming occurrence, it was no great wonder as to how that that had occurred. Makarov blamed the current generation in particular for his personal hell full of paperwork and misplaced staplers and dried out pens. It seemed as if each successive generation of Fairy Tail young ‘ins nudged the bar on destructiveness just a little bit higher. Until now, where the bar had been blown sky high to the point it had escaped Earthland’s gravity entirely and potentially the solar system (if Makarov _could_ physically feel a spark of envy towards a metaphor, he would for this one). These kiddos could put gray into a young man’s hair, to say nothing of the sham that sat upon Makarov’s head. He’d once had long, beautifully spiky blond locks. They hadn’t lasted long after he took on the mantle of Guild Master. Gods above, how he missed his hair.

Like with destruction, though, Fairy Tail had always taken in the outsiders of magical society. Mavis’s beloved little orphans, so to speak. It wasn’t until Makarov became Guild Master that he made the statement literal. And as Fairy Tail’s reputation for devastation increased, so it attracted more and more troublemakers from other legal (and sometimes not) guilds. Of course, Fairy Tail had accepted them all because that was what Fairy Tail _did_. Perhaps that had been, in some way or form, some kind of error. Because now Porlyusica had him on the books for yearly surgery on carpal tunnel he hadn’t actually developed just yet, but would probably sooner than later.

The paperwork had destroyed not only his body, though, but also his relationship with his family. His mistress was paperwork, and oh boy did his family not like competing with the bitch for his attention. His wife had left him. His son went dark wizard on him. And now his grandson had grown into a colossal asshole.

It also guzzled money like a drowning man did water. Not just for damages and reparations, but also in fees and replacing furniture and other guild property lost to the constant, near daily brawling. It was honestly a miracle that the guild had managed to remain in business as long as it had. Luckily the clients knew what they were getting into when they posted their requests at Fairy Tail, but still.

But now. Now. Makarov had finally hit his limit on the amount of bullshit he could endure.

Because sitting in front of him was an innocuous looking report, delivered by express bird early that morning, marked _Urgent_ and _Return Service Requested_. That never boded well for Makarov’s day, but this time it had entailed something that not even he been prepared for.

For Erza Scarlet… had destroyed a _mountain_.

It was just. Just straight up gone. Wiped off the map entirely. The entire thing.

Makarov was too old for this.

“I quit,” he announced to his empty office. “I’m done. No more. The next guild master can handle this.” He believed in his children. One of them could definitely handle this mess better than he could. Makarov was in his nineties, for gods’ sake. His heart was bad enough without… _this_.

It had been put off long enough. It was time to hand… no, _chuck_ the torch at the next unsuspecting moron to want the job. Actually, even if they didn’t want the job, it was now theirs.

The only question was: who. Who to saddle with the future of the Fairy Tail guild.

That the next master be S-Class was a given. It had been decided long ago, and it wasn’t really a condition that Makarov could change. Also, the idiots would riot if he didn’t pick from that group. What was the point of surviving that nightmarish trial over and over again if the potential title of Guild Master didn’t come with it? So it had to be one of them.

Gildarts was out from the get-go. Makarov wanted to resign immediately, and since he had no way of telling when the man would next deign to appear, he was eliminated from consideration.

Laxus? Makarov supposed that his grandson had enough raw power to keep the troublemakers in line, but he had a rather nasty, cruel, arrogant streak to go along with it. He’d be a tyrant. But also, he was not there. He was out on a job, if Makarov was remembering correctly.

It would be some kind of poetic justice if he made Erza the next guild master. She’d have to clean up her own mess. Which was very tempting, but also the letter had reported that she was tied up with the Rune Knights at the moment being questioned thoroughly over the incident, so she was also rather conveniently not present at the guild.

There was always Mystogan, Makarov supposed. He’d always been quiet, and prone to putting people to sleep rather than interacting with them but that wouldn’t really pose a problem once he was locked up inside the office as a slave to the paperwork gods. Then again, he was also not at the guild at the moment, and who knew when he’d be back.

Which left… Mirajane. Ah, Mirajane. The only balm in Makarov’s life. Once one of the worst of the troublemakers, she was his veritable deputy guild master already in all but name. She’d be the best suited to handling the affairs of the guild. Sure, she no longer had her magic, but she generally had the respect of most of the members. Even Laxus would be hard pressed to complain about the choice of Mirajane as Guild Master.

But as luck would have it... Mirajane, too, was not present today. It was her only day off of the week.

And Makarov was rather vehement that it be _today_ that he resigned his post. The only paperwork he ever intended to fill out ever again would be the leadership transfer document. Which he was mostly finished with, and just required the name of the new appointee to complete. That, and a stamp for the quickest delivery Magnolia’s postal office could manage.

Well, then. That decided it for him. He would go downstairs, and wait.

Whichever S-Class wizard next walked in those doors would be made Guild Master on the spot. They had no choice in the matter.

It took a few hours of waiting at the barmaid-less bar, but when Makarov suddenly felt intense drowsiness creeping along his senses, he started to grin ear to ear even as several guild members dropped to the floor like toast buttered side down.

Makarov had found his victim.

He wished Mystogan all the best in his new position as Fairy Tail’s Fourth Guild Master.

_He really, really did._


	2. Chapter 2

Jellal Faust’s life thus far could be considered far from rosy. Living under the thumb of his power hungry, increasingly deranged father had seen to that at an early age and no matter how many tattoos he acquired, he would still know exactly what lay beneath them. And powerless to stop the king’s mad plans for conquering the rest of Edolas, Jellal had turned to interfering with his plans in small ways. Of course, he’d been caught rather quickly. The Exceed that had saved his life back then had been banished from his homeland thanks to the consequences of that. So he’d turned to sabotaging King Faust’s plans from afar, in a land very, very far from home. A land where he needed to cover himself from head to toe and put the place he’d finally been able to call home under a sleeping spell any time he wanted to visit.

So yeah. It probably wasn’t the best of lives under anyone’s reckoning. But… he was relatively happy. Even if he had to use a false name, and hide his face, it was worth it to protect a fellow guild member and to keep the peace. He had no desire to be mistaken for either of his counterparts and all the horrors that would ensue from such an occurrence.

Maybe content was a better word. Yes, he was content to live his life as “Mystogan,” and to shut down the increasingly frequent Anima portals whenever they appeared. Even if his outfit was incredibly hot during summer, even if the bandages itched terribly and were prone to painful wrinkles, even if it took him literal hours to put the entire ensemble on. Perfectly content.

Being ambushed the second he entered the guild, however, was a new one for him. Even on Laxus and Mirajane’s more rambunctious days, he’d never had someone lying in wait for him to enter before (he assumed – Mirajane might have tried but she was particularly susceptible to the sleeping spell, so she never really got the chance to do anything other than snooze on the floor).

And the fact that it was _Makarov_ doing the ambushing was cause for some concern.

“Mystogan, my boy!” Makarov greeted him with a suppressed yawn, and walked towards him. “Just who I was looking for.” He shoved a paper into Mystogan’s chest once he’d gotten close enough. “Sign this for me, please.”

Confused, and not able to see super well as it was already late June and hotter than a sauna inside his suit, Mystogan grabbed the paper reflexively. “What is this, Master Makarov…?” he asked, trying to peer at the document. Sweat slicked hair strands fell into his eyes, stinging painfully and making them water. He couldn’t for the life of him make out what the tiny, cramped handwriting was saying.

“Just a formality,” Makarov informed him, passing him a pen. “Sign your name, please.”

This was suspicious.

“I’m not sure how you spell it,” the Guild Master tacked on, his hat jingling pleasantly as he nodded along to his own words.

Ah, correction. This was _incredibly_ suspicious.

Mystogan blinked furiously, trying to clear his sight, but only made it water more as a hair got stuck in his eyelashes. Slowly, he said, “I don’t think you’re being completely honest with me, Guild Master.”

Nearby, Macao groaned and flailed a hand out, groping blindly for his mug of ale he’d dropped when sleep had overtaken him.

Cold chills swept through Mystogan’s body.

Not a good sign.

The tiny old man glowered up at him. Magic swelled around him – not enough to transform, but enough to fully intimidate Mystogan. “Sign it,” the old man ordered, his voice deepened by his rising magic.

Now fully compliant (and slightly worried that his sleeping spell was about to wear off completely), Mystogan took the pen and signed where the Guild Master pointed. No sooner than the pen completed the final stroke, Makarov reclaimed the document. He peered over it, his wizened face crinkled further as he frowned at it, his eyes roving over every line. Mystogan stood there, helpless and still uselessly holding the pen, while he waited for Makarov to finish. Suddenly, Makarov grinned, and he shoved the paper into his pocket. “Excellent!” he announced, beaming up at Mystogan. Then he turned around and motioned for Mystogan to follow him. “This way.”

Relieved to escape his awakening guildmates, Mystogan was quick to follow on Makarov’s heels.

Just as he was about to fully step onto the second floor, Mystogan heard Macao complain, “I must be drunker than I thought. I thought I just saw Mystogan.”

“Only cure is to drink more,” wisely stated Wakaba.

“ _You_ , my friend, are a _genius_.”

Mystogan hoped that Makarov would explain what he was after soon, as he found this whole thing deeply mortifying. The only bright spot was that it looked like Erza wasn’t in at the moment so there was no chance of harming her should his disguise slip.

When they reached Makarov’s office, he motioned for Mystogan to shut the door behind him and lock it. “You can at least take the mask off in here, son,” he informed him cheerfully. “It’s not as if your face is a mystery to me. And you look like Happy’s egg got fried on a rock.”

As disturbing as that mental image sounded, Mystogan was only too eager to comply. Sweet, cool air hit his face and he almost sighed at the relief it provided. Now presented with the opportunity at last, he pushed his errant hair out of his face. “What did you need, Master Makarov?”

The old man didn’t look up as he opened up a desk drawer and started rummaging around. “Ah, just Makarov now, my boy. Where on Earthland is that god-blasted _stamp_ …?”

Confused, Mystogan furrowed his brow. “But that would be disrespectful.” What did Makarov need the stamp for? Was it for the document that Mystogan just signed? What on Earthland had Mystogan just gotten himself into, and how difficult was it going to be to extricate himself from it?

“Not in the least!” Then Makarov straightened up, triumphantly holding up the small object he’d been searching for. “Found it! Now the envelope… oh I swear I just had it…” Then an epiphany hit him, flashing across his face like lightning. He patted his other pocket. “There it is!”

True to Mystogan’s fears, Makarov crammed the signed piece of paper into the preaddressed envelope. He licked it and fixed the stamp on it with far more speed than someone of his advanced years should be capable of. “All done. Just need to take this to the post office now.” He toddled over to Mystogan and rummaged through his pockets again, pressing a set of keys into Mystogan’s hands. “It’s all yours now.”

Dread settled into Mystogan’s stomach. “What’s all mine now?”

Makarov shone like the sun as he patted the tall wizard on the arm. “Why, the Fairy Tail guild of course. Congratulations on your appointment. If you have any questions about anything, I’m sure Mirajane will be able to help you just fine, Guild Master Mystogan.”

Guild…?

Guild… Master…?

_Guild Master Mystogan?!_

By the time the information finally permeated Mystogan’s brain, Makarov was already heading out the door.

“Wait, Master Makarov…!” Mystogan cried, holding out a hand to capture his gremlin of a guild master.

“No longer Master!” Makarov cheerily reminded him, closing the door. “I’m retired!”

The snick of the door as it shut echoed in Mystogan’s mind, sounding too much like a door slamming closed on his future.


	3. Chapter 3

There was absolutely no way that Mystogan was going to be able to fully process what had just occurred in the short span of time since it had, but there was equally no chance of Mystogan _not_ trying to catch up to Makarov and wring a proper answer out of the old man. Swiftly pocketing both the keys and the pen (which Makarov had failed to reclaim as well), Mystogan reached for the door and wrenched it open.

In hot pursuit of the guild master (“former” his brain traitorously reminded him), Mystogan could see him already at the end of the hall near the stairs. How in the world had he gotten down there so fast?! Either Mystogan had been in motionless shock longer than he had thought, or Makarov was so eager to be done with the position (and aware that Mystogan would want to rescind it) that he had booked it the second he was clear of the door. “Master Makarov!” he shouted at the old man. “Please, I beg of you! Wait! I need to talk to you!”

To his great surprise, Makarov waited for him at the end of the hall. But as he approached, Mystogan soon saw that he was _not_ , in fact, the reason for Makarov’s immobility.

“Hic!” Cana hiccupped, her face already flushed despite how early in the day it still was. “So like I was – hic! – saying,” she told Makarov, haven’t not yet noticed the other occupant of hall skidding to a horrified stop not far away. “I ran out of booze already – hic! – and Mira isn’t here. Can you open up the storage room?” She hiccupped again.

Makarov grinned at her, and pointed behind him. “Sorry Cana, I just retired! Mystogan has the keys now.”

It was at that moment, as Cana glanced over at him and her eyes lit up, that Mystogan realized something important.

_He’d forgotten to put the disguise back on._

His face was in full view…

…of _Cana._

As if that wasn’t enough to curdle his blood, to Mystogan’s utter dismay, the old man then patted Cana on the arm and _left him there._

_Goddammit, Makarov!_

Cana whistled appreciatively at him. “So that’s what you look like under the face covering, huh?” Hiccupping once more, she stalked closer to him. “Not bad, not bad. So I guess congratulations are in order on your appointment, Mr. Guild Master Mystogan.”

“…Thank you,” he wheezed, all the air having escaped from his chest, completely displaced by the horror and dread that had taken up residence there instead.

“Soooo…” Having reached him, she threw an arm around his shoulders and dragged his face down to her level, getting way too much in his personal space. “Liss-ten. I need… a favor. You see… no Mira, no booze for Cana. Make Cana unhappy.” She nodded to herself. “You understand?”

Honestly, Mystogan wasn’t sure why she wanted _more_ booze. She seemed well on her way to fairly sloshed already. But if that was the cost of getting her to forget that she ever saw his face… then he was more than willing to let her drink through the guild’s entire inventory if it pleased her.

“I have the keys,” he confirmed. “Let me cover my face back up real quick, and then I’ll open up the store room for you.” Makarov could wait a moment. This was a new emergency that needed prompt handling or it would snowball out of control. More so than it already had, at any rate. It was a minor miracle that there was no one else on the second floor at the moment. If Erza had been there… it didn’t bear thinking about. And honestly, Laxus would have been just as bad, but for a different reason altogether.

Oh fucking hell. Laxus. He’d forgotten about Laxus.

Cana may have readily accepted the new change with nothing more than a minor threat, but Laxus was a whole different story. Once the man found out that his grandfather had passed the guild leadership onto _someone else_ … and someone _younger_ than Laxus, to boot?

_Goddammit, Makarov!_

As he replaced his head covering under the keen and too bright eyes of Cana, Mystogan tried to console himself that this was just a temporary problem. First, he’d deal with Cana. And whomever else Makarov might have told already. Then then he’d get the old man to rescind the leadership transfer, and… _oh, no the letter_. He’d forgotten about the letter as well. Even if Makarov did take back the change, it was all moot if that letter reached the Magic Council and made it official! It would all be so much easier if he could just put everyone to sleep again, but using that spell so soon after the last had worn off might be dangerous for his guildmates. And now that they were _technically_ under his care (no matter how short a time that might be for) that would be an unacceptable action for him to take just because his disguise might slip again. Which brought up the issue… how was he going to maintain it if he wasn’t able to stop Makarov? And how was he going to be able to stop the Anima portals whenever they appeared if he was tied to the guild hall?

Mystogan’s life had just become much more complicated. Which was saying something, because it was already a pretty gigantic mess to begin with.

But first, Cana, he reminded himself. Cana he could handle.

Probably. Best handle it sooner rather than putting it off, no matter how much Cana’s knowing smile unnerved him.

“The storage room is…” Mystogan wracked his brain for the answer. Where the heck was it, again? It had been a long while since he’d spent any decent length of time at the guild hall. And he’d never really needed the storage room anyway, except for one instance where he’d needed a quick hiding place from Erza, only to get accidentally locked in it overnight.

…Now that he thought about it, maybe his mind had blocked it out for his own good.

“You can follow me,” Cana volunteered, her hiccups having largely vanished. Mystogan nodded and accepted her offer, but he kept a careful eye on her back as she turned around, leading the way down the stairs. He had his suspicions about her, and how she might not be as drunk as she had played off earlier. That threat of hers had been way too coherent, even if she’d partially slurred the first part of it.

Sticking close to the far railing of the stairs, and then to the wall, Mystogan tried not to garner any further attention than he’d already received from Makarov and Cana. Stopping to deal with all of the inquisitive and congratulatory members would be a hassle. However, he did spare a moment to take a quick look around. To his relief, Makarov had yet to leave the guild hall, and was instead talking to a member of the guild Mystogan didn’t know very well – a woman wearing an outfit patterned in tiger stripes.

They were soon blocked from sight as Cana led him down a hallway past the kitchen. “This is it,” she informed him, coming to a stop and indicating the door. “Open her up, boss.”

Somehow, Mystogan found that being called “boss” was almost as unpalatable as “guild master” was. It was admittedly a smidgen better, but not by a significant margin. A shudder still rippled through his body at the sound of it. It didn’t fit him.

Just like “prince” hadn’t.

Cana waited expectantly, staring straight at him. Mystogan shifted uncomfortably. After a long minute of silence, Cana gestured at the door impatiently. “Are you going to open it or not?”

Ah, right. Flushed under his wrappings from both the heat and embarrassment, Mystogan fumbled with the keys as he withdrew them from his pocket.

Only to find that it contained dozens of keys. That all looked the same.

And… none of them were labeled in any sort of fashion. Because of course they weren’t. That was just the way his day was going.

Resigned to his fate, and hoping to get lucky and find it quickly, Mystogan decided just to start trying them. One… by… one.

He was going to have to make a mental note to ensure that the keys were properly labeled going forward, as this was…

 _No!_ Mystogan mentally slammed the brakes on the thought. That would mean acknowledging his new position as guild master, which was something that he staunchly refused to do. Not until he absolutely had to, that is. There was still hope that he could stop this in time.

Cana let out a snort, leaning against the wall and observing as he underwent the painstaking process of figuring out which key was which. After a minute, she suddenly commented, “You’re actually pretty handsome, you know.”

Mystogan nearly dropped the whole batch of keys at Cana’s unexpected words. Cold sweat ran down the back of his neck at the thought that he’d very nearly needed to start all over again. He shot the brunette a quick glare, the woman shaking with repressed laughter at his reaction. “…Thank you?” he replied slowly, unsure of where she was going with the highly suspect praise.

“Isn’t it – you know – hot under that disguise?” she continued, apparently too bored by the slow progress and needing some mental stimulation.

“Yes, it is.” His voice came out terser than he’d intended, as he was trying to concentrate.

“Then why do you wear it? No one will think less of you here if you take it off every once in a while. In fact, I’d bet you’d get a _lot_ of positive attention.”

He sighed heavily. It was hard not to feel irritated with his guild mate, even when he knew that Cana didn’t mean anything by it. She didn’t know the full situation, after all. How could she?

It was then that he finally found the right key, the lock giving way and the door to the storage room swinging open. When he turned to look at Cana, he was surprised by the expression on her face. It wasn’t one he could readily place. Her lips were pursed, and her eyes narrowed, but somehow it didn’t seem like anger. It was more… searching, more _knowing_ than that.

It was moments like these that fiercely reminded Mystogan about Cana’s magic being the ability to read objects, people, and even the future. Cana liked to play the role of a sloppy, happy drunk, but underneath that lay a very talented mage with a keen intellect and powers of observation who had been a candidate for S-Class more than any other Fairy Tail member. And it was altogether _unnerving_ to have the full force of her attention directed squarely at him.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he knew very little about Cana herself. She’d been a member of Fairy Tail longer than any of the other kids, even Laxus. She never talked about herself, even in the depths of her cups. Cana was flirtatious, sure, but that was about it for what Mystogan knew about her.

“You know what?” she said, with a small shake of her head and breaking Mystogan out of his musing. “Nevermind. Keep your secrets.” She turned away from him and strode into the room. “Just gimme my husband, Mr. Barrel.”

Grateful for the excuse to make his escape, Mystogan nodded. “Lock the door behind you,” he told her.

Then, leaving her to her self-proclaimed husband in peace, Mystogan turned away and headed back to the guild proper.

Hopefully he could still catch Makarov, and make him see that this was all a huge mistake.


	4. Chapter 4

To Mystogan's relief, he located Makarov quickly once he'd emerged from the hallway. Ignoring the stares he was sure to garner, Mystogan clamped down on his trepidation and approached the now retired guild master where he sat at the bar. "Makarov," he addressed him, dropping the "Guild Master" title in the hopes of garnering more good will from the often cranky old man.

The old man's face crinkled with a delighted smile as he swiveled on the bar stool to face Mystogan. "Ah, excellent timing, my boy! I was just thinking that we should inform everyone about the change in leadership. But I must say that it's so nice to see you walking out into the open like this." Mystogan did not need that reminder, as he was becoming aware of more and more eyes drifting towards the pair, and the conversations in the guild hall quieting down. Continuing and seemingly oblivious to the attention they were getting, Makarov went on, "I didn't even need to come and get you! Which I must say is quite a relief." He patted his knees. "These old joints aren't what they used to be, and I'm glad I won't have to climb those stairs every day anymore."

"I'm… happy that it's more convenient for you," Mystogan replied somewhat awkwardly. It had honestly never occurred to him that Makarov was getting old, even as he could see it happening. The old man had always seemed much larger than life and unnaturally spry, so it was easy to forget that he was in his eighties. "But can we please hold off on the announcement? I need to talk to you first."

Makarov's smile didn't dim in the slightest. "I'm not taking the job back. You can't make me."

A sigh escaped Mystogan's chest. "No, that's not…"

"Oh, so you _are_ taking it then? Excellent! Let's make the announcement right now." As he made to hop up onto the bar, Mystogan's arms darted out and caught the elderly man around the waist. "What are you doing, boy?! Let me down!" He kicked his legs ineffectually, like a small child.

"I'm sorry," Mystogan apologized, setting him back down on the bar stool. "But please… please give me the letter before we do that." Makarov opened his mouth to protest, only for Mystogan to hurriedly cut him off. "I'm not asking you to rescind your decision!" Not at that precise moment, at least. "I just want to talk to you about it first. Before it becomes official. So can you please not send the letter just yet."

"No can do."

Mystogan had not expected such an abrupt denial. At worst, he'd anticipated a lecture about responsibilities, but not an outright rejection of his plea. "But _why?_ " he asked, flabbergasted, his mind spinning to come up with a reason for this. "You can't even take the time to hear out my concerns for the guild?"

Shoving a finger up his nose and digging for treasure, Makarov gave him a half shrug. "You're misunderstanding. It's because I don't _have_ the letter anymore."

_…What?_

It must have shown on his face, because Makarov, finger still embedded deep in his nose, pointed to the woman Mystogan had seen him speaking to earlier. "Mickey volunteered Pi-chan's services to deliver the letter to the post office for me."

The woman in question noticed their attention and gave them a small wave.

"So you're too late. It's already gone."

Mystogan stared numbly at both Makarov and his accomplice. This possibility had not even crossed Mystogan's mind. He'd been worried about Makarov leaving with the letter, but that he could send it without having to leave the building at all was – !

He felt a pat on his arm. Makarov patted his arm again in a comforting manner. "Sorry, my boy. Wish you'd said something before."

"I tried!" he hissed, at the end of his patience. "You didn't listen to me!"

The old man ignored him and clambered up onto the bar. "Well, now that that's taken care of, time for the announcement."

It was at that point that Mystogan became keenly aware of the fact that the little remaining conversation in the guild hall had tapered off completely and that the eyes of every present guild member were trained on him and Makarov. Said eyes were all the size of saucers (except in Elfman's case, where instead it was dinner plates) as they stared unblinkingly. Makarov tapped his heel against the bar counter to superfluously call everyone to attention.

He cleared his throat. "Ahem!" Which then turned into a minor coughing fit as he choked on his own phlegm. It was awkward few moments as the old man hacked and coughed up on his makeshift stage and the rest of the guild looked on silently.

Nearby, Macao leaned close to Wakaba. "Maybe giving him some of our toilet wine was a bad call."

Wakaba waved his hand. "Nah, he'll be fine in a minute."

What in the world was toilet wine…? And did Mystogan even want to find out?

Finally, Makarov pulled himself together with a few light taps of his fist to his chest. "Sorry about that." Then he cleared his throat once more, and stood up a little straighter. "I have an announcement to make to you all. After many long years of being this fine guild's master, I have decided to retire. Effective immediately."

That sent hushed whispers throughout the guild, alarm and bewilderment in equal portions.

"What did Natsu do this time?" a flashy man with orange hair asked, green coated arms drapped over the shoulders of two different women.

…Mystogan must have been away from the guild a lot more than he thought. He had no clue who this was, and he hadn't recognized the woman from before either. But it seemed that everyone else was well familiar with him, including Makarov. In fact, there were a lot of unfamiliar faces to him staring up at the bar.

"No, no, Loke," Makarov said, with a slight wave of his hand. "It wasn't Natsu. This has been a decision long in the making, and had absolutely nothing to do with Erza destroying an entire mountain yesterday."

Low whistles resounded through the guild hall, and Mystogan's stomach dropped out of his body entirely. So that was it. That was the reason why he was suddenly in this predicament. It made a whole lot more sense now. A whole mountain? _Really, Erza?!_

It only just then occurred to him that he was now going to be the one expected to deal with that debacle.

"So what's Mystogan doing here, then?" a guild member shouted to a minor chorus of agreement.

"Ah, yes. About Mystogan. I have appointed him my successor, so you should now address him as Mystogan, the Fourth Guild Master of Fairy Tail. Please give him your utmost respect and do what he tells you."

Dead silence fell over the guild.

Macao slowly turned to face Wakaba. "I could be wrong," he stage whispered, "but maybe brewing alcohol out of the guild toilets was a bad idea after all. 'Cause I think _I'm_ hallucinating now."

Wakaba clinked his mug to Macao's. "I'll drink to that."

Okay so that answered that question and it did not sound sanitary. Now that it looked like he was on this train and it wasn't going to stop and let him off, he was going to have to do something about that probably.

But first he would see if Cana would like some company on her storage room drinking binge. Because he suddenly felt in dire need of one himself. Then again, that would require finding out which key opened the door again. Which Mystogan wasn't especially keen on at the moment.

A sandy-blonde haired man – was his name Max, maybe…? – stood up from his chair suddenly. "…I have to get started on the party planning immediately."

The interruption was the excuse that the rest needed to get up and suddenly swarm him with congratulations and well wishes.

…He changed his mind. It was completely worth dealing with the key if he got to escape this madness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so happy and excited about the wonderful comments (especially CinderDraria!) and reviews that I decided to post this chapter early! Don't worry, the regular update will still occur as planned. I'm aiming to update this fic on the first Friday of every month, btw.
> 
> Special thanks to orangana on FFN for pointing out the bit about the treasure digging from the last chapter lmao.

“I have to wonder…” Mystogan slurred to his drinking companion, gesturing with his borrowed tankard for emphasis, “…if it’s even legit-it- _hic_ -mate. I mean… I wrote… _Mystogan_. That’s… not even my real name!”

Was it a good idea to spill his guts to Cana? Probably not. But after the day he’d just had so far, there was a lot that Mystogan needed to get off his chest. And Cana was locked in the storage room with him, guzzling free wine straight from the barrel, by the barrel. She had always been rather smart. She knew the deal. So here he was, bare-faced and in full-blown retreat from the well-wishes of his fellow guild members, commiserating to the only person that had treated him semi-decently thus far that day and drinking way too much wine. Because that’s what you were supposed to do when you’d had a bad day, right? Drink too much wine and bitch to your friends? Okay, so Mystogan had no close friends, but again Cana was locked in the room with him drinking on the guild’s dime so at the very least she had a willing ear to bend. So long as the wine didn’t run out, anyway.

…Wait, none of it was Macao’s toilet wine, was it?

He eyed his drink doubtfully as Cana hummed under her breath in thought. “Don’t think it’ll stop the Council,” she stated bluntly. “I mean… Goldmine’s a guild master too, right? That can’t be his real name. For that matter, is it a first name? A last name?” She scrunched up her nose. “Either way, I’m pretty sure the Council doesn’t care _what’s_ written on the paper so long as it’s _your_ signature.”

Swirling the liquid in his glass, Mystogan grunted. “Wonderful.” The brunette made good points. Even his _second_ doppelganger in Earthland only had one known name and _he_ occupied a spot on the _Magic Freaking Council_. And just _how_ in Earthland had _that_ happened anyway?? Did Mystogan have a twin on Edolas that he had never met?? It wasn’t a question he wanted to think about right now.

The wine, though. That was a problem he could handle right now. The stuff in his tankard didn’t look any different from regular wine to him. Would he even be able to taste the difference? ...What if the wine had been toilet wine all along? What if Makarov had kept overhead costs down by switching to Macao and Wakaba’s specialty guild toilet brew years ago? It’s not like Mystogan would have known – he’d only recently come of drinking age for Fiore after all. The only wine he’d ever had was here, at the guild, and just the once prior to today. He hadn’t liked it much, then or now. Although the tingling sensation in his skull was starting to become rather pleasant, so he could see how it would be popular. But just how much bacteria had he consumed unwittingly, even in just the last hour?!

“Are you gonna drink that or get revenge on it for killing your pet dog?” Cana inquired, peering at her new guild master. “Cause if it’s the latter, give it to me. I’ll enact your revenge by putting it in my belly.”

“Cana. I have a very important question to ask you.” The blue-haired man looked up from his tankard and fixed his strong stare on his newfound best friend and drinking buddy.

The woman squirmed under his gaze. Mystogan really was rather handsome, after all, and she had meant it when she told him his face was to her liking. “What is it?” she asked.

“…Is this… toilet wine. Please. I need to know.”

She blinked slowly as she took a minute to process what he was telling her. “…You can _do that?”_ she whispered back at him, feeling fireworks going off in her skull. “Dude. Why did I not think of that? This is… this is a game changer. I had no idea you could make it from the toilets. And here I’ve been, purchasing and swindling it from men in bars all this time, like an absolute moron. How _do_ you make toilet wine?” Cana held up her hand to her chin, deep into mental calculations. “And how much can a single toilet produce, how quickly… and how many toilets would you need to turn a profit on it…?”

Mystogan should have kept his mouth shut. This wasn’t the path to curbing it – it had been only two seconds and Cana was already looking to franchise the operation.

“Cana.” He met her gaze and held it, speaking in as firm a tone as his buzzed state would allow him to. “I should not have to say this. But do not make wine out of the guild toilets.”

“Guild toilets,” she repeated, a spark Mystogan didn’t much care for alighting in her eyes. Cana aimed her pointer finger at him, clicked her tongue, and winked. “Gotcha.”

“What you do with your own toilet is none of my business,” Mystogan informed her. He recognized a losing fight when he saw it. Now that Cana’s eyes had been opened to this whole new world of possibility, there was no force on Earthland that could stop her. She was a force of nature. There was no controlling a force of nature. You just endured it and got out of its way.

Cana snapped her fingers, a grin spreading across her face. “I hear you loud and clear, Guild Master. Any hypothetical alcohol brewing will not occur in the guild’s toilets.”

“How about not on the guild premises at all?”

That set her to grumbling, but she soon nodded. “You drive a hard bargain, but alright.”

A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. “Now if only the Erza problem would be so easy to deal with.” Or any of his multitude of other problems, but especially _that one_. A mountain? Seriously? Those don’t just grow back. Usually. Wait, could they? They couldn’t in Edolas, but Earthland had a megaton of magic just floating through the air. Mystogan had seen weirder things since coming to Earthland. Honestly a mountain re-growing magically wasn’t that far out there?

Then again, if it was _that_ easy, Makarov wouldn’t have quit over it.

“Afraid you’re on your own there,” Cana sagely offered her two cents, having already been filled in on the situation and having already had a good laugh at Mystogan’s expense over it (lasting a good two minutes straight – Mystogan had been terrified for a bit that she wasn’t getting enough oxygen to her brain during the fit). “I wish I could say I was surprised, but I’m not, really.” She shrugged and took another chug of wine. “It was bound to happen someday.”

Unfortunate, but probably the truth. The members of Fairy Tail _were_ rather well known for causing widespread destruction and chaos. Unintentionally, but the results were still the same whether it was born of malicious intent or carelessness. Mystogan was something of an outlier in that regard, since he wanted to leave as little impact on Earthland as possible and did his utmost to keep himself hidden. After all, he technically didn’t belong here. He was someone’s doppelganger, from another world. And not just anyone, either – two people! A _cultist-slaver_ and a _member of the! Magic! Freaking! Council!_

And now he was thinking about that theoretical twin back on Edolas again. Dammit.

Cana watched him with deep amusement. “Your face just went through quite the journey. You know… I may not be as reliable as Mira, but you’re welcome to ask me for help too. I promise I won’t even charge all that much for the priveldge.” She paused. “Pirledge. Pervledge! Wait, no.” After a moment she shook her head. “You know what I mean.”

Mystogan considered her offer, then stared straight through her, his soul having long since vacated the premises. “ _Do mountains grow back?”_

Oh boy. She was not drunk enough for that question.

“…You’re not normally a heavy drinker, are you?” she asked. “I think it’s time to cut you off.” She gently removed his tankard from his grasp and downed it in one go so he couldn’t reclaim it.

“You did not answer my question.” He hiccupped, suddenly fighting back the overwhelming urge to break into sobs. “Answer my question, Cana. Do mountains grow back? _I need to know_.”

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Cana pointed to Mystogan’s sleeve, deftly avoiding him. “Why is there a booger on your arm?”

He looked down at it. Sure enough, there was one there. How did that… _Makarov_. He wiped it on him earlier under the pretext of a consoling pat on the arm! That… that _sly old man…!_

And Cana still had not answered his question.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to change the updating schedule so that this fic updates every 1st & 3rd Friday of the month. I'm really enjoying writing it! May as well capitalize on that momentum.

Staring up at the blank white ceiling, Mystogan contemplated if he should get Reedus to paint something on it. Like a blue sky with clouds. Or the stars. Or… something. Anything other than the off-white tiles he was confronted with now. Trees would also be good. Mystogan had made camp in and under a great number of trees over the years. The shifting light, the smells, and the constant ambient noise of the wind and forest inhabitants made for a very peaceful lullaby, and they had been a key part of what Mystogan enjoyed most about traveling.

Which he could no longer freely do, he realized, face souring at the unhappy thought. Maybe he should just… run away from all this. Get up, and walk out the door. He didn't really have any savings – had never seen the point – but it wouldn't be too difficult to live off the land with his skill set. Pick up work here and there along the way to the next location an Anima portal would appear in. Not such a bad life to envision. It was basically what he had been doing up until this point anyway.

It would certainly get him out of the lecture he was about to receive from the only other human Edolas emigrant he knew of. (He had no idea what was up with the Exceed eggs that had been dropped on Earthland and quite frankly didn't really want to. Because that probably meant that Extalia was up to something and he had his hands pretty full just dealing with a single Edolas kingdom's shenanigans thank you.)

"Minor alcohol poisoning," Porlyusica flatly informed him. "Very minor. Was there really a need to call me all the way over to the guild for this?" She turned away from Mystogan's infirmary bed, and coolly regarded the woman perched on the only chair in the room. "You of all people should know the symptoms and how to treat this."

Cana flushed under the pink-haired healer's gaze, and rubbed the back of her neck. Grinning sheepishly, she gave her a slight shrug. "Just thought it would be good to get a professional opinion. I'm no doctor, after all, and he seemed pretty sick at the time. Had trouble breathing, stumbling, and… yeah. So I got concerned since I don't know what his limits are."

That was an understatement. A couple of hours into his drinking binge with Cana, several guild members had come knocking on the supply room door looking for their new guild master. For what, Mystogan couldn't say. Because he hadn't asked. Instead he'd tried to barricade the door with wine barrels and some of them hadn't been as empty as he'd assumed. The sudden movement, combined with the unexpected weight of the barrels, had done some funny things to his stomach. And his head. After that, it was a bit of a blank for him. Next thing he knew, he was in the guild's infirmary with a grouchy old woman shining an incredibly bright light in his eyes.

Porlyusica heaved a sigh and turned back to regard Mystogan with sharp eyes. "What in the world happened to you, kid? This isn't the kid I know. You're usually far more cautious than this. You're even letting your face be shown to someone."

Now this was odd. Porlyusica's misanthropy was well known, especially to Mystogan. Prior to this moment, he'd believed wholeheartedly that she really couldn't care less if any of her acquaintances died. It had always struck Mystogan as strange that she'd chosen to heal people despite not being able to stand them. Maybe she did care. Somewhere deep, deep down. But even then, did she really know him well enough to say those sorts of things about him? Irritation stung him.

"Aw, give the poor bastard a break!" Cana told the healer. "He's had a rough day. Any normal person would be out of their mind with stress. He was just looking to relax a bit." She paused. "And… took it a little too far." Or maybe a lot too far. "But that's normal." Not the barricading of the door, but the urge to drink away problems was definitely one of humanity's rather more common vices – as she could personally attest to.

Cana was a good person. Cana was such a good person. Mystogan almost felt like crying again.

This defense, touching as it was to Mystogan, elicited only scorn in Porlyusica. "Pray tell, what on Earthland would warrant this level of stupidity?"

…Did that mean that there was something on _Edolas_ that _would_ warrant it? If there was, Mystogan wanted to know what it was.

The corner of Cana's mouth twitched as she tried to hide a smile. "He was just named guild master today."

Porlyusica blinked. Once. Twice. Dumbfounded, she stared hard at Cana. "Did the old geezer finally bite it?" she finally asked after a full minute of utter silence.

Mystogan choked on his own spit. Maybe he'd been a little preemptive in thinking that she cared, just a smidgen, for the members of the guild.

This time, Cana failed to hold back her grin. "No. He retired today. In fact, he's probably downstairs somewhere, celebrating. Surprised you didn't see him on your way in, honestly."

It was honestly a minor miracle that Mystogan had made it to the infirmary room without anyone spotting him. …Or had they? Mystogan hadn't actually asked Cana about that yet. For that matter, how _did_ he get to the infirmary? It was on the second floor? Did Cana carry him? She was strong enough to carry those barrels easily. If she did carry him to the infirmary though, he needed to know _how_. Fireman's carry, sack of potatoes, or princess. This was vitally important information.

Another heavy sigh was released from Porlyusica's lungs. "I see. So Makarov's fine. Well. That's that, then."

Wait. Maybe she _did_ care after all? And was just bad at showing it? This was giving Mystogan whiplash. His head hurt. Like someone was trying to sculpt his brain into a new shape. Why did people drink? Why? This was a horrible feeling. Mystogan was never touching alcohol again. But especially not the wine. Not with Cana making plans. No way.

The healer turned and regarded him coolly. "Stay and rest here. Don't even think of leaving until tomorrow."

He hadn't planned to. He didn't have a house. Oh god, where was he going to live…? Mystogan didn't have money. Or credit. Or references. Or even a real name. Maybe he could go live in the woods like Natsu. It seemed to work for the pyromaniac.

Unacknowledged by Mystogan, Porlyusica spoke to Cana instead. "Keep an eye on him. Make sure he stays hydrated. Turn him on his side. And keep a bucket nearby."

Cana saluted her with the wrong hand. "I know the drill, Captain. He'll be fine in my hands."

"Wait," Mystogan pleaded, reaching out to grab Porlyusica's sleeve. She couldn't leave just yet. "I have a question." As a longtime resident of Earthland, she had to know the answer. She had to. " _Do mountains grow back?"_

Silence fell over the infirmary. Porlyusica's eyes narrowed as the healer considered him carefully. Then she casually swatted away his hand and took out her pocket light again. "Did he hit his head at any point?" she asked Cana. Grabbing Mystogan's hair, she held his head in place while she shone that infernal light into his eyes once more.

"May…beee?" The uncertainty was strong in her response. "I didn't notice, honestly."

"…He may have a slight concussion."

Mystogan blinked furiously as Porlyusica removed the light at last. Fireworks burst across his line of sight, partially obscuring the other occupants in the room. Maybe it was the shaken up feeling in his brain, but he couldn't remember what a concussion was, exactly. Was that a bad thing?

"I'll leave him some nausea medication on the nightstand. Make sure he takes it." Porlyusica withdrew a small bottle and set it down. "And make sure he eats. Lots of protein would be good. And fruits and vegetables too – preferably the dark leafy greens."

Just the thought of eating made Mystogan's stomach do summersaults. No. No way. No thank you.

"Hmm." Cana clicked her tongue. "Afraid Mira's not in today. And I can't cook. Will bar food work? That's the only other places I eat at."

"If it fulfills the requirements I just stated, then yes."

Vision finally clearing up a little, Mystogan peered at the pair. "Can I have a book or something at least?" He wasn't too picky about the genre right now. Or ever, really. He didn't have a lot of possessions or hobbies… or the time to acquire any.

"No." The healer turned to glare at him. "Don't even think about it. Don't think at all if you can help it. Your brain needs to rest."

That was going to be a tall order.

"And no more socializing, either." She let out a huff. "In fact, just shut up for the day and lie there."

That sounded incredibly boring. Especially when there was nothing to look at in the room. The idea of getting Reedus to paint the place was becoming more appealing by the second. Green really would be an incredibly calming color for the room. Restful. Not harsh.

"Answer me, boy."

Mystogan scowled. Boy? He was nineteen. An adult already.

Porlyusica grabbed his face with both hands, squishing his cheeks together, while she glowered at him. "Answer me when I speak to you. Or has living on your own for so long made you forget what manners are?"

"Okay," he mumbled around her grip. "Got it."

Releasing him, she picked up her medical bag and made for the door. "Get me if anything changes with him."

"Will do."

And then Porlyusica was gone, and it was just Mystogan and Cana in the infirmary. Companionable silence sat between them for a couple of minutes. "Anything you don't like?" Cana suddenly asked him. "In the food department?"

"…I'm not picky." Didn't Porlyusica say no more socializing? …Not that he really cared. Cana had broken the rule first. "By the way, how did you get me up here?"

Cana flashed a confident smirk at him. "Carried you. Over my shoulder like a sack." She held up her fingers in the victory sign. "I covered up your head first. So no one saw even a hair, let alone your face. Praise me."

He gave her a thumbs up. "Good job. And thank you."

"I got your back, Mysty."

Hmm. Yeah, no…he didn't like that. "We're not doing that."

"Then Guild Master Mysty."

That was objectively worse. "No."

Cana stood up and patted him on the arm. "Too bad, we're friends now Mysty. I'll be back in a bit with some food."

Friends, huh. He'd already hoped a bit that they were… but it was rather nice to hear it from her, too.

"Friends," he confirmed.

…Maybe the day hadn't been _all_ bad.

* * *

Nevermind, he was going to throw up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God ya'll are super sweet and I love you so much.

An ice pack was pressed into Mystogan's open hand. "How are you _still_ hungover?" Cana questioned, plopping down into one of the chairs opposite Makarov's former desk. "It's been almost a full day." She paused, then leaned forward in her seat, squinting against the morning light shining through the window straight into her eyes. "Or is this part of the concussion thing?"

Mystogan's only response was to groan at her. Her voice was so… loud. And how was he supposed to know? He'd never had either one of those things before. And now he'd had them both back to back. And why was the room so bright? What did Makarov need such a large window for in his guild office? And right behind his desk? The morning sun just shone straight on through it, too. Did it have curtains? Mystogan hadn't thought to check, but now his head hurt too much to stand up again because if he did he was definitely going to vomit again.

Cana rolled her eyes at him and leaned back into her chair. "And shouldn't you wait at least a full day or two before doing anything after a concussion? It's only been like… twenty hours. Maybe."

Again, how would he know? "Couldn't," Mystogan told her bluntly through the drum beats in his skull. "Erza. Mountain. Needs to be handled." And Makarov was pretty adamant that _he_ wasn't going to be the one to do it. Someone had to step up to the task and unfortunately Makarov had picked… Mystogan. Who had a million other things he would rather be doing. Normally he'd have been back on the road by now to the next place his calculations and intuition indicated an Anima portal would appear in. But no. He was – against his will – now in charge of about sixty wizards with a penchant for pissing off citizens and Rune Knights alike on a near daily basis. Or so the batch of paperwork that had been delivered to the office this morning spelled out in detail after excruciating detail.

"Right. Erza. Mountain." Cana clicked her tongue and inhaled through her teeth. "Making any progress on that? Also… are youuu… going to actually use that ice bag on your head or are you just going to keep holding it until it melts?" she inquired.

Oh. He'd been wondering why his hand was getting wet and cold. Mystogan pressed it to his forehead. "Thank you. You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"I'm a little concerned that you'll die if I leave you alone," Cana informed him. "Like a rabbit."

Her confidence in him was… inspiring.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and sighed. Putting a hand to the back of her neck, she cracked it – a noise which sent a painful stab of nausea straight through Mystogan's gut. "Look, Mysty…"

Great. She was still using that.

"…I don't know if you've noticed, buuuuut…" Not a hopeful start to a conversation. "…You aren't super well equipped for this job. You know what I mean?" She held up a hand. "No offense."

"None taken," he told her, removing the ice pack and pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead in its place. Mystogan shut his eyes and counted to five before opening them again… and then hastily covered them back up with his palm to block out the piercing light. "I completely agree with you." What on Earthland was he doing here really? He didn't belong here. Not on Earthland, and definitely not as a master of a guild he was almost never present at. He had an important task that absolutely required his attention – he didn't have time to play guild master. And he'd only made S-Class two years prior, on his first recommendation. Cana, on the other hand, had been recommended for the position four times already. And she was almost always there, at the guild. She knew everyone. She at least had some idea of how things functioned.

Hmm. Now there was a thought. Opening one eye, Mystogan peeked at her through his fingers. She was rather capable. It seemed like people trusted her if she could keep the guild members from bugging him the entire time he was in the infirmary.

"You're not shoving the job on me." When Mystogan removed his hand and stared outright at her, Cana shrugged noncommittally. "Not a mind reader. Your face is just surprisingly easy to read. Must be because you've always had it covered. Never had to learn to hide your expressions. I gotta say that it's refreshing. But again. I'm not gonna be guild master in your place. I'm not even S-class, remember?"

"Is that really a requirement, though?" Mystogan questioned.

"Yeah. It is." Cana gestured vaguely in the air. "Why else would someone even want to be S-Class if not for that?"

"Is that what _you_ want?" Somehow, Mystogan was having a hard time picturing that.

She let out a frustrated huff through her nose. "…No, it's not," Cana admitted reluctantly.

"Well, it wasn't what I wanted, either." It had just seemed convenient at the time. Originally, he hadn't wanted to be S-Class, but then when Mystogan had learned that it would open up new jobs in regions he normally wouldn't be allowed into, he had jumped on the opportunity. Becoming guild master was a possibility that hadn't even entered his mind.

And now that decision had come back to bite him in his bucket pants.

Right on cue, a quiet knock sounded on his door. "Guild Master Mystogan?" Mirajane softly called through the wood. "Another batch of reports was just delivered for you from the Magic Council."

With an immeasurable level of effort, Mystogan repressed the urge to scream.

Seriously, could the guild members stay out of trouble for just _five minutes?_ Even the more innocuous guild members whose magics weren't even naturally geared towards destruction somehow still managed to leave trouble and chaos and devastation in their wake. Like the report immediately in front of him, explaining just how Levy's attempt to translate an old tome had led to the collapse of an entire ancient tomb, causing incalculable damage and loss of valuable history and untold knowledge. This was really too much, even if it had been unintended on the blue-haired mage's part. To be fair to Levy, she was most likely beating herself up over it, too. But that wouldn't exactly bring back what had been destroyed.

The three bottles of whiskey Mystogan had already found stashed around Makarov's office (found in a filing cabinet, in the fake office plant, and a tiny one in the pen holder, respectively) were starting to make a lot more sense. Cana's nose for alcohol was already proving invaluable in that regard, and she made for a very convenient disposal option as well.

And there was no telling what sort of horrible news awaited on the other side of the door, in Mirajane's hands. Mystogan contemplated locking it. How long could he foreseeably hole up in the office before he ran out of food?

"Guild Master?" Mirajane called again when Mystogan failed to respond. "Are you in there?"

With a sigh, Mystogan set down his ice pack and began the painstaking process of rewrapping his face. "Just a moment."

Cana watched him with a sour expression on her face. There went her eye candy. "You could probably let Mira see your face," she told him. "She's not the type to spread sensitive stuff like that around if it matters that much to you."

The new guild master contemplated it. Sure, Mirajane had been good so far. She'd taken the news of the change in leadership with an aplomb that Mystogan couldn't help but _deeply_ envy. And she'd been courteous enough earlier, even asking what she could do to help him settle in with his new role. But then again he also remembered what she'd been like a few years back. Besides which, a secret became less of a secret the more people that knew it. There was no telling what kind of trouble would arise if it accidentally slipped out no matter how good the intentions behind it.

"Hard pass," Mystogan said to Cana.

She gave him a thumbs down. "Boooooo," the brunette heckled him. "Laaaame."

Mystogan rolled his eyes. Then, his face safely covered, he cleared his throat. "Come in, Mirajane," he called out, putting the ice pack back to his forehead. Great, it had leaked a little on the desk. Now a couple documents were soggy. More importantly, his head bandana was now blocking most of the pack's coolness and he could barely feel it.

The door opened and Mirajane entered, a small brown package in her hands. Her eyes flicked over to Cana, who waved at her curious friend. When Mirajane reached the desk, she held out the package for Mystogan to take. He did so with the hand not clutching the ice pack. "Thank you, Mirajane."

She made an affirmative noise in her throat. "You're welcome, Guild Master."

When she didn't leave her spot in front of his desk, Mystogan awkwardly asked, "Was there… something else…?"

"Yes," she stated, her eyes roving over the documents spread out over the desktop and the soggy indentation of the ice pack on a few of them. "There are a couple of new people that wish to join the guild, but I seem to have misplaced my stamp. Makarov usually kept one up here as well, if I might borrow it for a bit?"

"Oh. Sure." Mystogan set down the delivery, but kept the ice pack where it was. Not seeing the stamp on the top of the desk, he opened up the top left drawer.

Then immediately shut it with great force.

"…Everything okay, buddy?" Cana asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're not moving."

Sweating bullets, Mystogan didn't move a muscle. "…Mirajane," he said, his eyes not meeting hers at all, "do you mind waiting downstairs while I look? I'll have Cana bring it down when I find it. And uh… please close the door behind you."

Visibly confused as to the reasons behind his instructions, Mirajane still nodded of the orders. "I'll let the new members know that it'll be a few minutes." She shared a glance with Cana as she departed, but the brunette merely shrugged.

Once Mirajane had left and closed the door behind her, Cana looked over at Mystogan. "Dude, what the hell?"

Mystogan wet his suddenly dry lips. "Cana. I need you to help me dispose of what's in this drawer without anyone else seeing it. Do you think you can do that for me?"

"What?" she questioned. "What could possibly – "

" _Porn."_ The word left Mystogan's throat in a half-wheezed, breathless rush. _"It's full of porn magazines."_

Cana's face lit up with abject delight at his news. "I got this," she reassured him.

_"Thank you."_

_Dammit Makarov._ What was the old man _doing_ up here? How much work was he actually accomplishing?

Mystogan had a sinking feeling about what lay ahead in his future.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a bit of a mistake before when I stated the order in which everyone had become S-Class. Whoops. Oh well, this is a comedic au anyway. There's some wiggle room there.

The paperwork situation wasn’t quite what Mystogan had expected.

Somehow it was _worse_.

Not only had Erza destroyed her mountain, and Levy (plus her team) collapsed that one ancient tomb, but at least _three other incidents_ demanded Mystogan’s full care and attention. Three. Which was three too many. Actually, no. It was five too many. The Erza and Levy things _did not happen_ to _other guilds_. Just to Fairy Tail. And maybe sometimes Phantom Lord, but those generally evolved from spats between the members and the clients rather than massive area damage. (Although sometimes said spats _did_ escalate to that when they involved conflicts between members of both Phantom Lord and, again, _Fairy Tail_.)

The first of the new reports was brief, stating that a miscommunication over Warren’s telepathic line resulted in a set of fireworks going off at the wrong angle, or at the wrong time, or the wrong materials (Mystogan wasn’t completely sure; in addition to the distressing content, the verbiage on these reports was difficult to parse for someone whose formal education ceased when he was about twelve). Not too much damage overall aside from one lost building roof and a couple of seared onlookers, which was a minor miracle. The report was more of a general complaint from what Mystogan could decipher.

The second of the reports was actually much more similar to Phantom Lord’s issues than the normal destruction variety. It involved a guild member Mystogan vaguely recalled speaking up during Makarov’s unemployment announcement – the orange haired man named Loke. The man had apparently flirted with the client’s wife in front of him and said wife decided to gift Loke some expensive magic jewelry that had been a gift from her husband, and had then left her husband to follow after Loke and judging by the description of the woman Mystogan could conclusively say that she had, indeed, done just that because she sounded very similar to one of the women he’d seen with the man just the day prior. But long story short… the client was now blaming Fairy Tail as a whole for the debacle. So in addition to the damages incurred by the other members, Fairy Tail was also now being _sued_.

As for the final report… that’s where the true destruction lay. For a member of Fairy Tail – one Laki Olietta (whom Mystogan could not mentally place for the life of him) – had grown an entire forest in the middle of a popular hot spring resort. The roots of which had then buried deep enough to find the source of the hot spring. Whereupon the forest promptly caught fire and burned down. But not before taking three outbuildings with it. As if that was not enough, boiling water and poisonous volcanic gases then surged forth from the new tunnels created by the aforementioned (and now disintegrated) forest root system and rendered the entire surrounding area completely unfit for human habitation.

Between Erza and this mysterious Laki, Mystogan wasn’t sure who had succeeded in causing the most damage. It was almost as if there was a competition or something.

…Then again, knowing Makarov, that was entirely possible. What would the reward for that even be? Jail time? Because that’s where most of the members were heading at this rate.

The rest of the packet that Mirajane had delivered to him had been filled with complaints about Gray being naked in public. About fifteen such reports, in various places around the country but at least four occurring in Magnolia itself and one notable incident involving a foreign dignitary who had assumed that since a local was wandering around naked, that meant that it was an acceptable practice in Fiore and had followed suit (or rather… his lack thereof).

It was at this point that Mirajane took pity on him and brought him up a full breakfast and a pitcher of water, claiming that it would help to ease his hangover if he was properly hydrated and had grease in his stomach. Mystogan didn’t have the heart to tell her that Cana had already convinced him to shotgun several raw eggs earlier that morning in the name of curing his hangover. Then again, he’d already thrown those up so technically speaking his stomach was empty again. The nausea, however, remained in full force.

Seeing an opportunity, Mystogan decided to take up the offer of Mirajane’s help extended to him from Makarov. “Mirajane, can you possibly help me with something?”

Her eyes lit up. “Sure thing, what do you need?”

Oh, good. That meant he wasn’t imposing. “I’m a little at a loss for what I’m supposed to do here,” he confessed, gesturing to the paperwork. “Makarov didn’t explain what was expected of me very well.” Or at all, actually. “How… am I supposed to handle this?” Cana wasn’t around to ask – she was presently disposing of the porn stash and the remains of a rather large bottle of hard liquor that had been labelled: _Open In Case of Natsu_. (To Cana’s visible disappointment, it had been mostly empty.)

Mirajane contemplated his question, tapping her fingertip against her chin as she thought. “I’m not completely sure, to tell you the truth. I think he burned a few documents the other day. The city wasn’t super pleased by that, by the way, so you may end up receiving a complaint about the bonfire.”

Absolutely warranted.

“I suppose you could look through the back-filed reports though,” she continued. “There should be at least a few in the filing cabinets. Seeing what was done before should help you figure out how you should proceed.”

That… was a good idea, honestly. “Thank you, Mirajane. I appreciate it.”

She smiled at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling in genuine sentiment. “It’s no trouble at all. Please let me know if you need anything else. I’m more than happy to assist.” She paused for a heartbeat, and then added, “And if you find the stamp in the process, that would be wonderful.”

Sweat ran down the back of Mystogan’s neck. He’d been so distracted by the porn magazines that he’d forgotten all about the stamp that had led to their discovery in the first place. “Yes. I will keep an eye out for it.”

Once Mirajane left, locking the door behind her, Mystogan consumed a hefty portion of the breakfast she left for him. Surprisingly… it _did_ help with the nausea. Mirajane was onto something with her hangover cure. Although now he was wondering just why Cana had him eat the raw eggs instead of this.

Feeling much better, he felt ready to try standing up. When he didn’t vomit, he took it as a good sign. In addition to the damage reports, he decided it would also be a good idea to look for the member records. If he was going to do this job, it would behoove him to learn the faces and names of the people he was now the employer of.

He soon found that this had been overly optimistic of him.

Mostly because he could find no such records.

Makarov, as it turned out, used his own unpatented “file-by-feel” system. Literally nothing was filed in any sort of recognizable pattern. It wasn’t alphabetical. It wasn’t grouped by type. Hell, it wasn’t even chronological. And as far as he could tell, there were no member records. Nothing whatsoever that indicated who was and wasn’t a member of the Fairy Tail guild. So far he’d only found a few unpaid bills (a problem all its own that he’d tackle later) and some other papers he couldn’t make heads or tails of quite frankly.

Where were the damned reports?! Also, there was no way this one room contained all of the records from Fairy Tail’s near century of operation. So _where in Earthland was everything else?_

Just as he was trying to wrap his brain around the enormity of the task before him, a knock resounded on the door.

“Yo, it’s Cana. Open up.”

Oh thank goodness.

Standing behind the door, Mystogan opened it and hid behind it as it swung inwards. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Cana to let him know if there was someone with her, he was just being cautious in case someone else had decided to come upstairs as well. Cana had been nothing but kind to him thus far, and had even taken care to hide his face when she brought him to the infirmary the day prior. In Mystogan’s book, that was akin to a life debt. After she fully entered, he shut the door and locked it again behind her.

“So how’s it go…” Cana’s voice trailed off as she surveilled the fruits of his efforts to locate the paperwork he needed. Namely the fact that there were now several files strewn about on the floor haphazardly in the name of his desperate search for order in Makarov’s chaotic filing system. “Well I can see you’ve been a busy bee. Find what you were looking for?”

“No.” Mystogan’s response was emphatic. “I did not. How does Makarov find anything in all this?”

Cana stared at him, perplexed. “I don’t know what you mean.” She gestured towards the mess he’d made. “Pretty sure the room was clean just a bit ago.”

“No. I mean… I can’t figure out how he finds anything in the cabinets,” he clarified. “There’s no rhyme or reason to the filing that I can see.”

She continued to regard him oddly. “…But isn’t it obvious?”

It was Mystogan’s turn to stare dumbly back at her.

With a shrug, Cana made her way to the nearest cabinet, not caring that she was stepping on the contents of other files in the process. “What were you looking for?”

“List of guild members past and present.”

“Yeah I can tell you now that it doesn’t exist. Anything else?”

Wonderful. “Previous reports? Preferably something with Erza.” He paused, and then tacked on, “And the more recent the better.”

Understanding creased her face. “Got it.” She then moved to a different cabinet, much closer to the desk. Leaning down, she pulled out the bottom drawer, thumbed through a couple of files, and then pulled one out. Straightening up, she handed it to him. “Here. This is from a month or so ago. That work for you?”

He took it and scanned over the contents. It was exactly what he needed.

 _“How?”_ he asked, looking up. His eyes bored into Cana’s as he repeated, _“How?”_

Cana smiled at him. “Isn’t it obvious though?”

“No!” he told her, shaking the file at her. “No it isn’t!”

A laugh overtook Cana at his reaction. “It’s filed by height!” she informed him. “Makarov is short, so he files the more important things to him in easy reach.”

So that was why all the booze and porn was in or around his desk. Easiest access for the old man.

Mystogan looked down at the file in his hands, and at the cabinets, before finally gazing at Cana once more. “That…” he began softly, “…is not… going to work… for me.”

Walking over to him, Cana patted him on the shoulder. “Then you have your work cut out for you.”

 _That_ was certainly the unfortunate truth.


	9. Chapter 9

Late afternoon saw Mystogan at his desk, still struggling with the reports. Having a past incident of Erza's to refer to was definitely helping him fill in the form's information, but the one question of "how guild member is to be penalized" was giving him a migraine. The guild masters were expected to decide on the punishments? What was the point of the Rune Knights and magical court system if it was self-regulated by the guilds? There was also the matter of what to do about the filing situation which was proving to be a hearty distraction all on its own. It was clear from what Cana had revealed that if he was going to have any chance of locating anything in the near future… he was going to have to completely empty the filing cabinets, sort the contents, and then refile _everything_. Cana had declined to help, herself. In fact, she was presently taking a nap in the infirmary, having skedaddled as soon as it seemed like he was going to ask her to assist him. Honestly he didn't blame her. Mystogan didn't want to do this himself. Even just the little amount he'd accomplished on it thus far really only amounted to making a mess of the office.

Just as he was contemplating just… getting up and leaving it all behind him with a note to not look for him, he heard a knock at the door.

"Guild Master? This is Erza Scarlet."

Oh. _Oh no._

That was the _last_ thing that he needed right now.

"Mirajane told me to come see you as soon as I arrived back at the guild."

She was back. Early? Mystogan felt like it was too early for her to be back. Wasn't she being questioned by the Rune Knights? He thought he remembered the report mentioning that. It was definitely too soon for her to return. In fact, he was struggling to believe that they would just… _let her go._ After destroying an _entire ecosystem_.

Mystogan opened his mouth to tell her to come back a little later, only to find the words stuck in his throat.

Wait. What if she recognized _his voice?_

It was something that he hadn't considered before, since he'd been preoccupied with doing all he could to avoid being recognized for his face. But his voice was a problem, too. The council member – Siegrain – didn't seem to have the exact same voice as him from what little he'd heard of it on a lacrima screen he'd passed by once, but Mystogan couldn't rule out the possibility that it just sounded different to him because he'd never had his own voice played back at him. That was a thing, right? Porlyusica had mentioned it once, back when his voice first broke and he'd thought something was wrong with him.

Erza knocked again when there was no answer. "Guild Master? Are you in there?"

…Maybe he could pretend he was out. Yeah. That seemed like a solid option.

"I'm unlocking the door, now."

_Who the hell gave **Erza** a key to the guild master's office?!_

Stupid question. It was clearly Makarov.

Scrambling to affix his head wrapping, he silently cursed the old man that had put him into this predicament in the first place, and his counterparts for making the whole disguise thing necessary in the first place. There was no way he was going to survive a week of this, let alone until the next Anima appeared!

And now his old friend nausea had returned as well. Fantastic. Just how many other people had keys to the office? Was he going to have to change the locks? Issue a key recall? He couldn't be having heart attacks every other day from people just letting themselves in when he wasn't ready for it.

Speaking of, she was entering and his face wrapping wasn't quite as airtight as usual but it was going to have to suffice for the moment because there was no time to make it better. Hopefully the tattoo wasn't showing. Should he get a mirror for his desk? To check in the future before letting people in? Though not that it mattered if people had keys to _let themselves in all the time._

Erza opened the door, startling a little and freezing in surprise at seeing just who now sat behind the guild master's desk.

 _Yeah you and me both, Erza,_ Mystogan thought.

"Is that… Mystogan?" Erza inquired curiously. "This is… unexpected. I did not know that you had returned to the guild. It is good to see you."

He nodded shortly at her. How weird. She looked… almost happy to Mystogan. Then again, it had been a while. He did everything he could to avoid her, after all, and tended to put her (and the rest of the guild) to sleep whenever he did encounter her by accident.

She took a few steps into the room, leaving the door open behind her. "Have you seen Master Makarov? I was looking for him – " Her voice suddenly cut off, as she surveyed Mystogan's rather telling position behind the desk, the piles of paperwork surrounding him, the various half-open filing cabinets, and files scattered around the room.

Oh. Oh no. This was not… This did not look good for him. What if she thought he was up to something? Clearly no one had told her about the regime change just yet. And the door _had_ been locked, and he'd said _nothing_ when she'd knocked… Now here she found him, face covered up, going through the guild paperwork and (despite his best efforts to contain the mess) looking like he'd tossed the joint.

 _This is not what it looks like! I promise! I'm just trying to get it organized!_ He wanted to tell her that but the words were _not_ coming out.

Understanding began to dawn on her face. "Oh, so _that's_ what Mirajane meant when she said there had been a change in the office. Did Makarov retire? Are you the new guild master?"

Mystogan nodded again tersely, still unsure about his voice, and starting to sweat bullets. That had been a close call. He vaguely wondered if he should be concerned that Erza _did_ come to the correct conclusion, but then she restarted her journey towards the desk. The tattoo really _wasn't_ showing, was it? Because that was the one dead-giveaway. Why in Earthland and Edolas had he decided that would be good idea?! A similar face could be passed off, even a similar voice maybe, but not both those and an identical facial tattoo!

She stopped just in front of his desk and held her gauntleted hand out to him. "Congratulations, then."

Hesitant but relieved that she hadn't seemed to notice anything amiss just yet, he leaned forward and shook her proffered hand.

"So… what did you need to see me for, Guild Master?" she inquired, expectant.

He honestly had no idea what she was talking about. He hadn't sent for her, not that he could recall. And even so, he had been avoiding her for years, even dazed or drunk he wouldn't willingly arrange for them to be in the same room together. …Probably. No, most likely not. He had a healthy sense of self-preservation. So then why…

 _Mirajane._ She probably thought that Erza would be helpful in resolving his little… issue with the incident paperwork. Relieved that he now had the thread, he picked up the incomplete report and handed it over to her.

Taking the report from him, Erza frowned at it for a moment, perplexed. With a glimmer, eyeglasses materialized on her face as she performed a swift requip. Properly geared up, she began to read over the document.

Erza was nearsighted?

The hapless new guild master didn't have time to dwell on the discovery long, as she soon paled. "Ah… I… I see…" she stuttered out, the glasses disappearing from whence they had come. Her entire body began to shake like a leaf in a windstorm. "I… um…" Erza swallowed thickly. "I will be… sure to handle this… appropriately…" Then, to Mystogan's great confusion, she bowed quickly. "I hope you have a good day, Guild Master."

Mystogan watched blankly as she swiftly turned on her heel and departed his office – incident report still in hand. The door shut in the frame with a _snick_ as Mystogan tried to process what he'd just seen.

What had just happened? That had not been what he'd expected. All he'd done was give her the paperwork, and then she'd just… _left?_ Why… what? _What?_

Did… did Erza think he was asking her to fill out the report herself?

_That was an option?! That had been an option this whole time?!_

Mystogan's head made a _thunk_ as it hit the desk.

Maybe Cana had the right idea after all. It was time for a nap.


End file.
